by Lori Foster
He groaned.
Still so close he tasted her breath, she asked, “You’re not married or anything, are you?”
“No.”
“At first, I was afraid Angel or Celia—”
“No.” Using his left hand, he touched her hair. Warmth, softness. “I love your hair.” He tangled his fingers in the silky mass and brought her mouth back flush with his.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and obligingly gave him the longer kiss he wanted.
Dull pain pushed at Mick, but he blocked it from his mind. It was nothing compared to the feel of her. “Open your mouth.”
She did, then accepted the slow, deliberate thrust of his tongue. He stroked deep, taking her mouth, exploring all the textures and heat, and the taste that was uniquely Delilah.
They both groaned.
Delilah pulled back. She touched his jaw and asked, “Did I hurt you?”
He had to stop this or he’d lose it completely. “Of course not.”
“I’m not married or anything, either.”
Mick, still on the verge of a meltdown, managed to lift a brow at that candid disclosure, and she shrugged. “I just thought you should know,” she said, her words coming in soft, uneven pants, “being as we’re...well, doing this.”
“This?” She stayed close and the scent of her, lighter now and touched with lotion and powder, filled him. He wanted to wrap himself in it, wanted to hold her close to his body until their scents mingled.
“The whole sex thing.” She drew a breath, but kept her gaze steady, unwavering. “I assume that’s where we’re headed. I mean, I’ll have you all to myself in my apartment and I want you. I assume you want me, too.”
He could hardly believe what she’d just said. No woman had ever come right out and so boldly stated her intentions to have an affair with him. Women sometimes chased him, but they were subtle, never so up-front with their motives. They teased, flirted, advanced and retreated.
They didn’t advance and advance.
“What is it you do?” she asked, unconcerned with his bemused astonishment—maybe even unaware that she’d astonished him. “I’ve never known anyone who carried a gun and shot people.”
He should have been prepared for that, because he knew she’d ask. But he was still stuck on that affair statement, attempting to get his head back together—a near impossible feat because all he could think about now was starting that damn affair. The sooner the better.
“Mick?”
He wanted to tell her the truth, but he knew nothing about her except that she evidently had an enemy, someone who wanted her dead, someone who would have succeeded if that bullet hadn’t been sidetracked by his shoulder. He also knew she was eccentric, a woman heedless of her surroundings, honest to a fault, brazen and stubborn one minute, shy and uncertain the next. And he knew she wanted him, not as much as he wanted her, but enough.
His innate caution warned him against going too fast. Thinking of Dane and Alec, he lied. “I’m a private investigator.”
Her eyes widened with unrestrained excitement. “Seriously?”
She looked so comically surprised, he grinned. “Yeah.” Starting things off with a lie wasn’t the best course of action, but he had few choices until he found out what was going on. If all went as planned, he’d be able to tell her the truth soon enough. She’d understand his reasoning and forgive his deception. He’d see to it.
“Wow.” She settled on the side of his bed, her hip against his, her hand still resting on his chest. “I could use you for research.”
Mick did a double take, momentarily getting his mind off the idea of pulling her down on the narrow bed beside him. “Research for what?”
She shrugged in the direction of the laptop. “I’m a writer. I’m always looking for easy ways to research. From the horse’s mouth is always the easiest.”
A writer? Now, somehow that fit. The creative types were always a bit different, as far as he knew. “What do you write?”
“Mysteries.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Fun stuff. Whodunits with a few laughs and some racy romance thrown in.”
It was Mick’s turn to say, “Wow.” Then he added, “Have you ever been published?”
“Well, yeah.” She seemed to consider that a stupid question.
She’d said it so casually, as if it were nothing. He’d never met a novelist before, and now he planned to sleep with one. “How many books have you done?”
“I’ve had four published so far, with two more in the works.” She nodded toward her laptop. “I’m working under a deadline right now.”
“How old are you?” Mick didn’t think she looked old enough to have one book published, much less four. He’d always pictured writers as more seasoned, scholarly types.
His question made her grin. “Twenty-five, almost twenty-six. I sold my first book when I was twenty-three.”
Mick eyed her anew. A mystery writer. He had to shake his head at the novelty of it. And here he’d claimed to be a PI. A match made in heaven. “I’ll be damned,” he said, still dealing with his amazement. “Maybe I could read one sometime?”
“Sure. I’ll show them to you when we get to my apartment. By the way, I drove myself here so I could take us both home tomorrow. Your friend Josh was pretty ticked off about it. He was going to tattle, and you should have seen his face when we found you asleep. He looked so frustrated, I thought his head would explode. Of course, for that one, it might be an improvement.”
Mick closed his eyes. Some maniac had tried to kill her, and here she’d been on the road alone again, vulnerable. He could just imagine Josh’s frustration. “Delilah.”
“Del.”
“Excuse me?” He opened his eyes again and stared at her. Hard.
“If we’re going to be friends, you may as well call me what everyone else does.”
“And everyone else calls you...Del?” It sounded like a man’s name to Mick.
She shrugged. “It’s what I’ve always gone by. Only my father called me Delilah, usually if he was angry, and he died a few years ago. Now I only use my full name when I write.”
Mick wondered how her father had died, if she had any other family left.
He shook off his distraction. He’d have time to ask her about her family later. Keeping his tone stern, he said, “Josh was right to be angry. Someone tried to shoot you today. You shouldn’t be alone, not until I—” He pulled back on that, quickly saying instead, “Until the police can figure out what’s going on.”
She flapped her hand at him, waving away his concerns, then let it settle on his abdomen. He nearly shot off the bed. Every muscle in his body clenched and his cock throbbed. He’d never been in such a bad way before.
If she moved her fingers just a few inches lower, she could make him feel so much better. He closed his eyes against the image of her soft hand holding him, stroking him. Too fast, he was moving way too fast.
“I don’t think,” she murmured, watching her hand on his body, “that they were really shooting at me. Why would they?” She looked up at him, her hand thankfully still. “I mean, they aimed at me, but I think it was just a random thought. They were criminals and they got thwarted because the police showed up, and they were mad, so they wanted to shoot someone.”
Nearly choking on an odd combination of explosive desire, frustration and protectiveness, Mick asked, “And you think they chose you, a woman who didn’t have a thing to do with anything, a woman just visiting the store? They didn’t look rattled or frenzied. They looked like they meant to shoot you—you specifically—before they took off.”
Her fingers spread wide and her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I didn’t notice anything like that.”
Her baby finger was a quarter inch from the head of his penis. His body strained, fighting against his
control. He needed to lift his hips, to thrust into her hand.
“You,” he rasped, “are the person they accused of setting off an alarm, when you hadn’t moved and weren’t anywhere near anything that could have triggered an alarm.”
That made him think of something else, and he forced himself to concentrate on things other than her touch. “How did the cops know? Did anyone tell you?”
She stared blankly at his bandaged shoulder, deep in thought. “The officer who questioned me said someone on the street noticed the guns when he was walking by, and he used his cell phone to call them.”
“Honey, listen to me.” Mick put his left hand on her bare waist, between the bottom of her shirt and the top of her jeans. Her skin was smooth and warm, her muscles taut. “Did you recognize either of them? Was there anything at all familiar about them?”
“No, of course not.” She looked at her hand on his abdomen, then at his erection. He read her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. Instinctively, he tightened, which brought forth a moan of pain from both physical discomfort and sharp anticipation.
“You’re in a bad way,” she said in a hushed, husky tone filled with understanding and her own measure of need.
He wanted to howl. He wanted to ask her to go ahead and stroke him, hard and fast, that she use her mouth...
“Delilah...”
“Del,” she whispered, and started to glide her hand lower.
Using his left hand, Mick caught her wrist. His hold was tight, too tight, but he felt stretched so taut he was ready to snap. “I’m in worse than a bad way,” he rasped. “I’m on the very edge, and if you touch me I won’t be able to control myself.”
She tilted her head, staring at him as if she didn’t quite grasp his meaning.
“I’ll come,” he said bluntly, then watched for her reaction.
She stayed still, but probably only because he held her slender wrist in an iron grip, refusing to let her move.
“This is difficult for me,” he explained, watching her, needing her to understand. He felt more tension than he had at fifteen, when he’d seen his first fully naked female, there for the taking. He’d lost control then; he was ready to lose control now. He ground his teeth and insisted, “I’m not usually like this.”
Her eyes, warm and heavy-lidded, looked him over. “You’re hurt, in bed. This is a strange situation.”
“It has nothing to do with any of that and everything to do with you. I want you bad, and have since the first time I saw you.”
He could tell that admission pleased her. “Today?” she asked.
Gently, he lifted her hand away from his body so he could carry on a coherent conversation. He brought her hand to his chest and kept it there. “I saw you two weeks ago, near a building I own. You were heading to the post office.”
Her frown reappeared. “I never noticed you,” she said. Then, chagrined, she added, “I was probably plotting, and I don’t pay much attention then. My mind tends to wander.”
He thought about how she’d been examining the jewelry store, studying it, prowling from one corner to the other. “Plotting...what?”
“My book, of course.”
She said it as if it should have been obvious to him.
“So,” she asked, “you saw me a few weeks ago?”
“And many times since then. I eat at Marco’s a lot, and you—”
“Jog by there a lot.” Her smile was very sweet. “Whenever I have a deadline, I need to get outside at least once a day to clear my head so I can really think and plot. So I jog. But I’ve never noticed you before.”
“I’ve watched you almost every day. Today when I saw you actually stop and go into the jewelry store, I decided it was time to introduce myself.”
Her countenance darkened. “Instead you saved my life.”
They stared at each other. The air was charged, until a nurse started backing in, dragging a cart with her.
Delilah moved so fast, Mick was stunned. She snagged the pillow from her chair and dropped it over his lap. To the nurse she said, “Time to check him again?”
The nurse looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I’ll only be a minute.” Then she turned to Mick. “For an injured man, you’re about the healthiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Mick was in no mood for small talk. “Is that right?” he asked, while watching Delilah.
“Yep. Great lungs, great reflexes. The epitome of health. I wish everyone would take such good care of their bodies.”
Delilah made a choking sound at that observation. “I’ll, uh, just get out of your way.” She tapped a few buttons on her laptop, closed it and set it on the window ledge. She picked up a large tote from the floor and swung the strap over her shoulder, saying to Mick, “I’m going to run down to the coffee shop and grab a bite to eat. Do you want anything? You slept through dinner.”
The nurse said, “We can still get him a tray.”
Delilah leaned close and whispered, “It was nasty-looking stuff. I’d pass if I was you.”
The nurse heard and grinned. “The coffee shop has pretty good sandwiches and chips and desserts. You’re not on a restricted diet, so if something sounds good...”
Delilah started out. “I’ll surprise you.”
“Delilah—”
“Del,” she said, then added, “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back. We’ll pretend we’re having a picnic.”
And before he could warn her to be cautious, she was gone. Mick sank back against the pillows, the ache in his shoulder receding to no more than a dull, annoying throb. The nurse offered him more pain medication, but he passed. He needed all his wits about him to deal with Delilah Piper. Otherwise, he thought, grinning shamelessly, she’d probably take sexual advantage of him in his weakened physical shape.
He could hardly wait.
The nurse finished her poking and prodding, changed his bandage, and then, at his request, handed him the phone.
He called Josh. A woman answered—no surprise there—and Mick heard her grumbling, heard the squeaking of bedsprings, before Josh came on the line.
“You’re either feeling much better or much worse if you’re making a call.”
“Much better,” Mick told him, and he knew it was only a partial lie. “Can you bring me a change of clothes tomorrow? The nurse said I should be ready to get out of here by eleven.”
“Sure thing, but it’ll have to be early. I’m on duty starting at eight.”
As a fireman, Josh worked varying hours, usually four days on, four days off. On his off days—today being one—he spent a lot of time with women.
Zack, an EMT stationed right next door to the fire department, was just the opposite. He spent all his spare time with his daughter and only rarely made time for women, and then only when his hormones refused to let him put it off any longer.
“If it’s inconvenient, I can ask Zack.”
“It’s no problem. I’d planned to check up on you anyway, just to make sure your little woman hadn’t done you in.”
“You don’t like her?” Mick asked, not really caring, but curious all the same. Personally, he found everything about Delilah unique and enticing, even her damned stubbornness, which had earlier about driven him nuts.
“She’s...different.”
True enough, Mick thought.
“And she took exception to me right off the bat.”
Mick grinned. That was probably a first for Josh.
“She’s not like other women, and she’ll take some getting used to. But it appears she’s as nuts about you as you are about her, and I suppose that’s all that really matters.” There was a muffled sound as someone snatched the receiver away from Josh and he apparently wrestled it back. Mick heard him growl, “Just hang on. I’ll only be a minute.”
&nb
sp; Chuckling, Mick said, “I won’t keep you.”
“S’no problem. She’ll wait. So, what’s it to be? Jeans? And I guess some type of button shirt?”
“That’d be easiest. I’m sure you can find your way around my house.”
A feminine whisper, insistent and imploring, sounded in the background. Mick grinned again. “G’night, Josh.”
“Hey, before you go, you should know that Alec is hanging around, waiting to take care of things for you.”
Mick appreciated the subtle way Josh explained that with his lady friend listening. “Thanks. I’ll ring him next.”
He disconnected his call with Josh and punched in Alec’s number. He imagined Delilah would return any minute, and he wanted to make sure things were set first.
“Sharpe.”
“It’s me, Alec. Where are you?”
“Hanging out in the parking lot.”
“Damn, I hate to do that to you.”
He could hear the smile in Alec’s tone when he said, “Celia’s with me. It’s no problem.”
That made Mick smile, too. He could just imagine the two of them necking like teenagers. Alec was still a bad ass of the first order, but with Celia, he was a pussycat. “Why don’t you head out and I’ll call you when she decides to leave?”
The door opened and Delilah came through, her arms laden with paper bags and disposable cups of steaming liquid. Mick eyed her cautiously, not sure how much she’d heard.
She set everything down and turned to him with a smile. “Is that Josh?”
“No, it’s, uh, Alec.” He could hear Alec laughing in his ear. He knew they all appreciated the unique effect Delilah had on him.
“Alec?” That surprised her, he could tell, but not for long. “Well, tell him to go home and go to bed. I’m not leaving tonight, so I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Mick scowled. “Delilah...”
“Del.” She sat on the side of the bed and took the phone from his hand, then said into the receiver, “I’m going to stay the night. But thanks for thinking of me, anyway.”
And then she hung up.
